


Dungeoning With Dragons

by OtherCat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dungeons & Dragons References, Evil Plans, Fantasy, Harems, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Revenge, Slavery, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: It's a truth universally acknowledged that an exiled magus who comes into good fortune, will want to build a dungeon, and from there, acquire even more power. Or, Darrus Gan wants revenge for the destruction of his home, and doesn't much care what he has to do to get it. (And his friends are more than willing to enable him.)
Relationships: OMC/OFC
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Maou no Hajimekata](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/552406) by WARAU Yakan. 



> This extremely roughly based on a hentai manga I found on mangafox, Maou no Hajimekata. This isn't too much like the original manga, I just stole some of the worldbuilding.

“It’s a double spiral meeting at a central chamber,” Darrus says as he paces around the great mound concealing the abandoned dungeon, listening carefully to the humming of the spell. “There’s two entrances and I think I’m getting some side tunnels. Some of them have collapsed. It’s all fitted stone blocks and brickwork, so it was built sturdy. The collapsed tunnels might have been traps.”

“If it’s sturdy, I’m surprised bandits haven’t used it for a base,” Algoen says.

“They might have,” Darrus says. “But it wouldn’t have gone well for them, over time. They would have ended up killing each other.”

“And you want _us_ to live here?” Algoen asks, giving the mage an incredulous look. The orc’s heavy brows draw tightly together as he glares.

Darrus grins briefly. “Dungeons are power sinks,” he says. “Power then draws spirits, some of whom are extremely nasty. A magus would be able to ward against or bind spirits. Ordinary bandits without a witch or magus to moderate the energies and presences would just get eaten.” Darrus pauses for effect. “If they were lucky.”

“So there might be possessed humans in the woods, check,” Algoen says.

“Something like that,” Darrus says in his most eerie voice, a tone full of resonance that makes the orc back away a step or two, shuddering.

“You stop that,” Algoen says, giving Darrus another glare. “Gods-be-damned witch.”

“Seawitch,” Darrus corrects. “Only part.”

Algoen snorts. “ _Is_ there anything to clear out?”

“Bats, maybe? Rats? Bugs definitely,” Darrus says.

“I can help with that,” Pyrocumulus says. The dragon had been curled up nearby, listening in on the conversation. The bright red eyes of the most recent member of their band glinted with a certain feline amusement. “I saw some bugweed a while back,” she says. “Have your soldiers gather about four bushels of the stuff and we’ll use it to fumigate the place. Use gloves when you’re gathering it, otherwise you’ll get a rash. You should probably also burn your clothes and the gloves afterward. You soft-skinned people are all very delicate.”

“Bugweed” turned out to be hogweed and it was somewhat horrifying to see Pyro chew up the nasty stuff and actually swallow it, grinding it further in her craw.

“How are you able to eat that?” Narun, one of the healers asks, somewhere between fascinated and horrified.

“It mostly just tastes green to me,” Pyro says between bites. “And I’m not eating so much as shoving it in my craw, steaming it, then burning it to ash and expelling it. Actually digesting it would probably give me the shits.”

The mercenaries laughed at that, and Pyro gave them a grin, twitching her spines. “You’re going to want to be upwind of this,” she says. “As a bonus I’ll burn your stuff.”

The orcs who had been voluntold to gather the bugweed stripped out of their clothes and went to scrub up at the nearest stream. Everyone else retreated upwind to watch Pyrocumulus blow smoke and steam into the dungeon entrance. Every so often, she would chomp some more of the bugweed and blow more smoke. After about an hour, Darrus could see plumes of smoke coming up from the secondary entrance and other points that might have been hidden exits. Along with the smoke came struggling flocks of bats, swarms of dying rats and insects. Pyro blew more smoke and steam into the entrance, stopping every so often to eat more and continued puffing smoke until nothing was coming out of the exits except smoke, and she was out of bugweed. Then she burned the clothes and trotted away from the dungeon mound. “I’m going to go drink a pond dry and eat a deer,” she says as she passes by Darrus. “It won’t be safe to explore down there for another day or two. The smoke has to settle.”

Darrus nods. “How do you clean it out after?” he says.

“ _I_ don’t. I just burn spots clean where I’m going to be sleeping and eating,” Pyro says. “ _You’re_ going to want to scrub the place clean.” She coils up and launches herself skyward with all the force of a catapult, a great wash of bugweed-scented air from her gold wings sending up dust, claws cutting divots in the ground. She rises high, and circles, then heads north.

“She’s going to draw all kinds of fucking attention,” Algoen says, watching the dragon turn into a glinting speck.

“Yes, probably,” Darrus says, amused. “But attention is the point. A dungeon doesn’t feed itself, you know.”

“Early attention. Unwanted attention. Dragon slaying attention,” Algoen continues, poking at Darrus.

“I’d say ‘don’t worry’ but you’d hit me,” Darrus says, fending off the pokes. Algoen’s band was a casual bunch, most of them being some relation to Algoen, or a member of his tribe. For all that Darrus was technically Algoen’s employer; he’d started out as a member of Algoen’s small band of mercenaries. He’d been fighting with them for seven years, and he’d long since settled into a comfortable friendship with the orc.

Their most recent campaign had turned that around somewhat. They had been hired to slay a dragon. Instead, Darrus had made an alliance with the dragon, after a traditional mage-duel with her, where she’d been defeated. Pyrocumulus was a very young dragon, though one with an extensive hoard. Darrus wouldn’t have tried to duel her if she’d been older. Since he had nearly reached the end of what he could learn via travel, he had proposed setting up a dungeon with the dragon and Algoen’s mercenaries.

(Since this dungeon was being funded by Pyro’s treasure, in a way she was technically _Darrus’_ employer since he was acting as her agent…sort of.) 

“Damn right I would,” Algoen says. “How did I let you talk me into this? Dark mage’s chief minion. Gods.”

“For the chief minion of a dark mage, you’re a failure in the cringing servitude department,” Darrus says.

The orc snorts with amusement. “You’re not paying me for cringing servitude, and wouldn’t be able to afford it,” Algoen says with a toothy grin. 

He turns from the dungeon mound, taking in the forested hills. “We’re damned close to the Kusai.” The tone is almost casual. “Or wherever the Kusai might decide to be at any moment. You think that’s maybe why the dungeon’s empty?”

The dungeon was directly north of the Forest of the Kusai, a vast stretch of Living Wood to the south, inhabited by a tribe mostly known for its insularity. From what Darrus had heard the Kusai refused any but the most limited contact from the outside. Merchants wanting to trade kept to the very edge of the Forest, (where ever the edge was at the time) and the method of trade involved leaving things the Kusai might like in certain places, and then checking to see if the Kusai had taken anything or left anything. (No one had ever seen a Kusai, or new whether they were a human tribe, some other species, or somehow the trees themselves.)

“I haven’t heard anything about the Kusai taking an interest in dungeons,” Darrus says, thinking about it. “Unless the previous mage tried to interfere with the Living Trees, I’m not sure the Kusai would have done anything about the dungeon otherwise. If it was Kusai though, I’d doubt there’d have been anything left of the dungeon, or any of the human communities or farms that Pyro has spotted.”

“Speaking of which,” Algoen says. “We could probably use some help cleaning out the dungeon and so on.”

“And I need to work on the Phoenix Egg,” Darrus says. “Start by raiding a nearby farm. Take the entire family if you can. Hell, take their livestock and whatever grain they have and vegetables from the garden.”

“The entire family? Even babies? Do I want to know what you want with babies?” Algoen asks.

“I don’t have any plans for human sacrifice,” Darrus says, giving Algoen an impatient look. “Or orc sacrifice. At the moment.”

“Whole family, everything they own, understood,” Algoen says, and gives a slightly mocking salute before gathering some of his soldiers together for their first mission. The others are given the unpleasant job of beginning to clean the dungeon and drag anything useful out of it, or patrol the surroundings of the dungeon.

Cleaning out the dungeon mostly involved taking out anything that looked even remotely useful and scrubbing it down while Darrus cleaned out the tunnels with elemental fire and water. The adventurers who had killed the dungeon master had picked over the dungeon pretty thoroughly. All that was left was furniture that couldn’t be easily moved, shelving, chests and broken lab equipment. Anything broken that couldn’t be repaired was hauled out and incinerated. Anything that could be fixed was turned over to the orcs with the appropriate skill.

The farmers when they arrive are a husband and a wife and three girls. The farm had been a small log cabin, one milch cow, some pigs and chickens and a few fields, barley and wheat and a kitchen garden. The farm had been barely subsistence and very close to the territory of the goblin clans. The farmers looked to have also done some trapping and hunting in addition to farming. One of their sheds had been full of wild cat, fox, rabbit and otter pelts. 

Algoen presents the farmers to Darrus while he’s cleaning out the previous mage’s quarters. The orc drags the bound adults into the room and forces them to their knees while two other orcs keep hold of the three children. The oldest of the children is perhaps thirteen, while the youngest is five. They are all grubby and more than a little wild-eyed with fear, the adults with fear and anger.

Darrus casts a spell of calm, and waits for it to take effect before speaking. “I am Master Darrus,” he says. “What are your names?”

“Enal Wil,” the man says, like he’s half asleep. “This is my wife Cara, and my daughters Aris, Melia and Cori.”

“From now on, you and your family will be working for me,” Darrus says, layering into the certainty of his his words the barest of suggestions. The man frowns, and the woman shakes her head, opening her mouth as if to protest. Darrus pushes a little harder, making the certainty stronger. “You will work for me.”

“Adventurers will come,” the man grits out in a flare of defiance. “And destroy you.”

“That’s always a danger,” Darrus says, and smiles. “Obeying me is safer than the alternatives.” Darrus says, letting his voice edge into seawitch undertones, casting fear into the humans. The man shudders, shoulders hunching. The woman clutches at her daughters, who are clinging close to her, the youngest crying. (Darrus feels a slight guilt for that. But not much.)

“I’ll…obey you. Don’t hurt my family,” the man says finally.

“I have no intention of harming your family, as long as they obey me,” Darrus says. He questions the man and his wife about the previous mage, but doesn’t learn very much about them. The mage had mostly used fetches and summons to raid, not apparently trusting living allies or servants. After interrogating the farmers, he sends the family off with some cantrips of cooperation, sending them to work with the band’s camp followers. (Who are all setting up tents and beginning the evening chores with the assistance of soldiers assigned to camp chores.)

Darrus explores some of the tunnels of the dungeon. There are some truly hideous murals on the walls, which had been defaced by the adventurers, and some broken and extremely tacky statuary. He began to get a sense from the remnant energies that the summoner-mage had been aligned with elemental earth. The fragments of their Phoenix Egg had been in the center of a maze full of traps, most of which had been sprung. (But not all of them; Darrus runs into a few of them. One of them was flying spears that he deflected, another was a pit trap. A third trap was a nasty thing involving burning oil. Darrus keeps his shields up and his eyes open, and manages not to get himself killed.)

It seems at first to be a ridiculous place to hide a Phoenix Egg, but it occurs to Darrus that the mage hadn’t intended to hide the Egg at all. The entire maze was an array intended to draw in energy from the deaths of the adventurers exploring it, for the Egg to consume. The energy would have been extremely concentrated in the maze. Would anyone have been able to walk it without growing disoriented and collapsing? Someone must have, if the Phoenix Egg had been destroyed. 

He makes his way back out of the maze and from there to the surface where Pyrocumulus is sunning herself on a boulder she pulled up from somewhere and asks her, “how would you like to be a decoy?” he asks.

“A decoy?” Pyro asks.

“The previous mage kept their Phoenix Egg at the center of a maze full of traps,” Darrus says. “Most of the tunnels down there are big enough for you to fit, including the maze. Probably there were summoned creatures defending it. There were also traps that can be reset. The presence of the old Egg is strong enough to bring adventurers right to you. You can take them out one by one or in a group, or retreat and drop the ceiling on them.” 

“Let’s see,” Pyro says. She accompanies Darrus, squeezing herself into the dungeon with her wings held tight to her body. (Darrus is always a little surprised, even though he knows that dragons can fit into anything they can get their heads into, a feat they share in common with rats, though it’s safest never to mention this.) She huffs her way through the tunnel, just behind him, and gives a little sigh when they reach a point where the roof expands from a little over the height of a tall man, to perhaps twice that. It’s still a tight fit for her, but obviously more comfortable.

“The roof gets higher deeper in,” Darrus says.

He guides her through the maze, which is much wider and higher, and would give her plenty of room to attack, into the very center. It’s a roughly squared off room with a domed roof and a shallow pit in the center. The floor and walls are stone.

“The Phoenix Egg would have been just about there, wouldn’t it?” Pyro asks, indicating the pit.

Darrus nods. “What do you think?”

“It seems comfortable,” Pyro says. “Bring me a nice flat stone to lie on, and I’ll arrange some of my hoard around it.”

Darrus nods, and heads back to the surface to tell Algoen about Pyro’s request. Dinner is cooking over a dozen campfires, the farmer family huddling close to each other, trying not to come into contact with the camp followers or soldiers near them. The family now has bondsmen collars. The man glares at him, and the woman looks away to her daughters frightened and worried. Darrus passes them by without a word.

Algoen is juggling with mending a pair of pants and eating a plate overflowing with biscuits and ham while drinking a cup of beer. Darrus serves himself and settles in beside Algoen. “Pyro picked her lair,” he says. “She says that she wants a flat stone to lie on. And some of her hoard to pile up around her.”

“About time we can stop carrying it around,” Algoen says. “Why the fuck would a dragon need six gold leaf embellished oak chairs? Or a matching table? Or a set of twenty cut crystal goblets with silver rims and the stems shaped like nude human women? It was fucking ridiculous.” 

“No dragon’s hoard is all trunks full of coins,” Darrus says, amused. “There isn’t enough gold in the world for that.”

“Why not swords and jewelry then?”

“I’ll let her know you don’t approve of her collection,” Darrus says. “I’m sure she’ll immediately gather a hoard that meets your requirements.”

Algoen snorts. “Fry me more like.”


	2. Chapter 2

Algoen raids two more farms for bondsmen and supplies, bringing them back to the dungeon. He has them dig out living quarters for themselves including a kitchen and latrines, then sets them to work cleaning rooms set aside for barracks, and clearing out cave-ins. The bondsmen start out working with fearful reluctance that fades into resentful reluctance when they aren’t abused by the orcs guarding them. (There are a few beatings but nothing prolonged, and nothing that might maim.) Darrus puts some of the first arrivals in charge of the later arrivals, and this also improves their behavior. There are still a few escape attempts, but not of them are successful.

Once the former mage’s quarters have been completely cleared out and refurnished, he has some servant quarters built and acquires a housekeeper, two maids, a cook and a valet. (He weaves each of them a spell-bracelet so they can get into and out of his quarters to go on errands.) The woman he chooses as a housekeeper is a tall woman with iron gray hair named Sirti, the cook’s name is Ara, and she was shorter and stouter. The two housemaids were pretty dark haired girls name Isa and Cara. The boy’s name is Dolif. He’s small, skinny and scarred; an orphan bondsman of about sixteen or seventeen years from one of the larger, more prosperous farms.

He’s careful with his new servants, not wanting to frighten them. He doesn’t quite win them over, but they obey him readily enough. Darrus makes an effort to make them comfortable in their quarters. Sirti is a calm, sensible woman well able to manage the other servants. The two maids especially become more cheerful and outgoing, at least when he isn’t in the room. (He hears them singing, bright, slightly off key and nothing like the singing of seawitches.)

The servants need very little training in their assigned tasks, except for Dolif, whose previous duties involved mucking out stalls and feeding livestock. He had been initially told that Dolif was an “idiot” but it turned out that Dolif simply didn’t speak very often, and needed to have very clear instructions. Darrus teaches the boy his duties, which mostly involve laundry, mending and keeping Darrus’ room clean since it wasn’t as if he had an extensive wardrobe to care for at this point. Darrus has one of the maids teach the boy mending. (The task is switched over to Sirti, because the girl lacked the patience to teach. Dolif does much better at learning to sew after that.)

Soon, the dungeon is almost comfortable. (For something largely intended to be a killing ground.) Everything is in good repair, furniture has been built or refurbished, and the dungeon’s traps and defenses have been repaired or expanded on. More farms are raided, and Algoen begins to “recruit” some of the younger bondsmen as soldiers.

Darrus began his work on the Phoenix Egg, which meant he spends a great deal of time staying up late and reading, and conducting experiments on the fragments of the previous mage’s Phoenix Egg. A Phoenix Egg is four elements in balance, surrounded by a “shell” of the mages’ own soul. It’s one of the most difficult workings for a mage to accomplish. Very few mages were perfectly balanced in an elemental sense so there was always a sway toward a particular element that made acquiring the other four difficult. The previous mage had been earth and fire, and Darrus was water and air, like most seawitches, but there was a great deal to learn from the Egg fragments.

It took several attempts before he had the Pearl that would serve as the heart of the Egg. About the length of his finger to the first joint, it was oval in shape and translucent, and somehow both heavy as the crushing deeps and light as air. It was bright, almost blindingly so, and dark. It reaches for him, sending shivering pulses all through him. This was the most dangerous part. The Pearl was so hungry, and he’d feed it until he died if he let it take him too soon. Mages died before they even got a full Egg because they didn’t have the energy available. (Also, Darrus was determined that he did not end up on the floor flopping like a fish and screaming, most likely panicking the women or inspiring them to attack him while he was helpless.) “Oh, no you don’t,” Darrus says, his voice shaking a little.

He needed an intermediary sacrifice, quickly. Darrus quickly exited his workroom, and went into the parlor, holding the Pearl cupped in his hands. Spying one of the housemaids, he calls her over.

The housemaid, Cara, approaches hesitantly. “Master?” she asks in a tiny voice. She looks at the brightness/darkness coming from his cupped hands, and looks like she wants to run. 

“Hold your hands out,” Darrus says, not able to stop the breathless tremor that is doing nothing to calm the girl. “Cupped like this. This won’t hurt at all.”

This was obviously not reassuring to the girl, but she obeys. She flinches, and would have dropped the Pearl when he transferred it, but his hands close over hers, and hold her still. Cara trembles, eyes widening. She shudders all over, and makes a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Master, please. I don’t--” she was cut off by another whimper-moan and she almost collapses to her knees.

Darrus catches her, and half-guides, half-carries her to a chair. Cara’s hands were now knotted in fists, held close to her chest, as if she didn’t dare let go of the Pearl. He sits her down, pulling her into his lap and she whimpers again. He can feel the Pearl working on her, drawing out her energy. A little clearer headed now that he wasn’t directly holding the Pearl, he’s able to control how much it takes, so that it only takes to exhaustion, instead of to the point of death.

Darrus hears a gasp and sees that Isa is standing in the doorway staring wide eyed at him, at Cara. “Cara isn’t hurt,” he tells her. Isa darts away before he can put together the words to make her stay. 

Cara goes through several paroxysms, each one stronger than the last until she’s screaming and breathless. When it stops her hair is loose and tangled from its braid, and she’s half asleep, “Master, why did--what?” She asks in a hoarse, blurry voice.

Darrus is very aware of the presence of Sirti and Isa hovering in the doorway, clearly wanting to do something, but not daring to enter the room. “It’s the Pearl of a Phoenix Egg,” he says, and reaches out again, to brush her hair away from her face. Darrus says gently. “A Phoenix Egg draws in energy, and can be an immense source of power,” Darrus says. “But first it has to be grown from a Pearl. You were its first ‘meal,’ so to speak.”

“It was eating me?” Cara asks, sounding horrified. She looked down at the Pearl that she still hasn’t let go of.

“The energy from your paroxysms,” Darrus says. The girl, face flushed, turns her face into his chest. Feeling a strange tenderness, he says, “It feeds on your pleasure. It won’t hurt you. Do you think you can stand up?” The girl nods and he steps back, and the girl gets to her feet, wobbling slightly. 

He takes the Pearl from her, gently prying it from her hands, and turns her over to the housekeeper and the other maid. “Isa, you’re next,” he says, enforcing it with a spell of command. The girl gives him a wide eyed look, obviously terrified. “If you don’t come back here within five minutes, I’ll come looking for you, and you won’t like that at all, do you understand?” The girl nods numbly. “Then next Sirti and Ara.”

This time Sirti nods apprehensive, and frightened. Isa and Sirti take Cara back to the servant quarters. Darrus sits back down, and waits for the maid, idly transferring the Pearl from hand to hand. He can feel it sending out grasping tentacles of power toward him, like the moving limbs of seaflowers. It takes approximately six minutes for the girl to arrive, with Sirti close behind. “Master Darrus?” Isa asks, giving him a wide eyed look.

“Come sit down,” Darrus says, gesturing for her to come and sit on his lap as Cara had.

Isa hesitantly obeys, and with a little coaxing, accepts the Pearl. It takes a little longer for the Pearl to feed this time. It isn’t as horrifyingly ravenous this time, it draws out the experience for the girl, until she’s gasping and begging, writhing in his arms. (He holds her tightly, concentrates on keeping the Pearl from draining her dry.) Isa is too tired to get to her feet when the Pearl is done with her, and it’s harder to get her to let go of the Pearl. Darrus leaves her in the chair, and has Sirti and then Ara bring in pillows and featherbeds to lie down on. 

He gives the Pearl to Sirti next, who tries not to cry out as the Pearl feeds from her. She is only partly successful, little whimpers and gasps escape from between her clenched teeth. When the Pearl is done with her, she’s exhausted. She tries to get to her feet. “I should check on Cara,” Sirti mumbles.

“I’ll check on her,” Darrus says. Sirti protests, but allows herself to be laid down on one of the featherbeds. She falls asleep almost instantly, curling into a ball.

When he turns to Ara, she balks, bursting into tears. “Please, don’t make me, Master,” she begs. “Please. Don’t make me food for that unholy thing.”

“Ara,” Darrus says, sternly. “Don’t make me have to punish you.”

“Please, master!” Ara cried, backing away from him, staring at the Pearl in his hand. “I can’t, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Darrus asked. The bondswoman frantically nodded, still backing away. “Take your clothes off.” Ara stared at him, shocked out of her tears. “You said anything,” Darrus says, and tucks the Pearl away for the moment. “So take your clothes off.”

Ara obeys, trembling. Soon she’s standing before him, naked and shivering, not looking at him. It isn’t that cold, so it’s probably fear, Darrus thinks. “Go over to the wall and put your hands against it, your arms braced.” She almost balks again, but Darrus says harshly, voice tinged with a command spell, “you said anything, Ara,” and she does what she’s told. He has her stand with her feet apart, hands braced against the wall for about a minute, and then he touches the small of her back. She flinches. “Don’t move.” Darrus says, and slaps her ass, hard. Ara jumps and cries out. “I said don’t move.” He beats her ass barehanded until the skin is red and her legs are shaking. Then he pushes her up against the wall, and slips the Pearl between her legs. Ara _wails_ , part betrayal, part stunned pleasure as the Pearl draws energy from her. She squirms and cries, and drops with exhaustion when Darrus is done with her.

He tucks away the Pearl, and carries Ara over to a featherbed, and lays her down. “Your punishment isn’t over,” he says. “No clothes for the next few days. I’ll allow you an apron for cooking, but otherwise, naked.”

Ara stares at him, dazed and frightened. Not speaking. Darrus gives her a soothing spell, and she falls asleep. He pets Ara’s hair for a moment, and looks to see that Sirti is more or less awake and watching him with a sick sort of fear. “I won’t be defied,” he tells her gently. Sirti shudders. “Tell Ara when she wakes up that the Pearl can feed on pain as well as pleasure.”

“Yes master,” Sirti says, her voice soft and trembling.

He examines Sirti, Isa and Ara, and sends them into a deeper sleep. From there, he goes to check on Cara, in the servant quarters. Dolif is sitting by her bed looking worried, and immediately gets to his feet as Darrus enters the room. He moves to stand at the foot of the bed, blocking Darrus’ approach.

Darrus stops in his tracks. “It’s fine, Dolif, she wasn’t hurt. I’m just checking up on her.”

Dolif gives him a steady, completely stubborn look.

“Would you like to see?” Darrus asks. He reaches for the Pearl, holding it in his cupped hand to the boy.

The boy starts to reach out, and then grabs his own hand, forcing it down. “Screaming,” he says.

“She wasn’t in pain. No one was in pain except Ara and that was because I had to punish her for balking,” Darrus says. “Come here.”

The boy _is not_ an idiot. He immediately understands the possibility that he might get in trouble for balking, so he obeys, cautiously approaching. Darrus catches one of Dolif’s hands, and places the Pearl in the palm, closing his fingers over it. The Pearl is mostly sated now, but it thrums quietly, reaching out the sample the boy, whose eyes widen. “Oh,” he says and shivers all over, but doesn’t collapse the way Cara or the other women had.

“It was more intense with the others,” Darrus says quietly. “Sit quietly for me, while I check on Cara.”

The boy nods, face flushed, and allows himself to be sat down on one of the other cots. The boy squirmed, making a soft little whimper, and blushed even more. It was very becoming, Darrus thought. Dolif’s appearance had greatly improved from the skinny, ragged figure he’d been. His hair was properly trimmed, his hands were clean though still rough, and he was filling out with all the food he was eating. He was not unattractive, for a human, and the flush brought a certain charm to his appearance.

“I’m going to check on Cara,” Darrus says gently, and pets Dolif’s hair.

“Said she wasn’t hurt,” Dolif says, but leans into Darrus’ touch.

“No, she’s tired,” Darrus says. “The Pearl made her very happy, then very tired.”

Dolif hums in agreement. “Feels good,” he says. 

Darrus examines Cara, ensures that she’s comfortable, and then turns his attention to Dolif. The boy was lying on the cot with his legs over the edge, his erection clearly visible against his trews and tunic, his hips moving in little jerks. His eyes were wide, and one hand held the Pearl in a tight grip, while the other clutched at the cot’s blanket. “Do you like that, Dolif?” Darrus asks, moving to sit by the boy.

Dolif nods, giving Darrus a hazy look.

“You’re so quiet,” Darrus says. “Are you sure?” He slips his hand between Dolif’s legs, feeling the outline of his erection. Dolif gasps, hips bucking under Darrus’ touch. “Still too quiet,” Darrus says, and undoes the boy’s trews. He wraps his hand around Dolif’s member, and begins to stroke. Dolif tries to stifle himself, little gasps and whines that slowly get louder. The Pearl feeds off of the energy, languid and slow, and Darrus feels his own desire bleeding into the mix of energy and pleasure.

Darrus shifts the both of them so they’re both on the bed, so he’s straddling the boy. Dolif stiffens, panics a bit, but slowly submits to being kissed, to having Darrus stroke and caress. He works his way down the boy’s body, stripping him naked as he goes. (The boy fights him here a little as well.) When he gets to the boy’s erection he sucks at the head, and then goes all the way down. Dolif lets out a shocked half-scream, bucking hard into Darrus’ mouth and then makes a frantic horrified whimpering noise when Darrus gags. “No, no, sorry master sorry,” he says, and tries to get loose.

Darrus tries not to laugh or choke, and keeping a good grip on the boy’s hips, works him into a full paroxysm before pulling free and wiping his mouth. The boy stares up at him, dazed with pleasure, but also apprehensive. “It’s alright,” Darrus says. “I’m not angry; you’ll do better next time. Give me the Pearl.”

The boy obeys. The Pearl feels even heavier now, thrumming with power. It reaches for Darrus and a sweet brush of delight shivers through him. There’s a pure and crystalline note, and Darrus can’t help but sing the harmony to it. (The boy, still naked, stares, Cara awakens, blinking in hazy confusion.) This is only the energy of five humans. Not even powerful humans. He’s excited and almost a little frightened to find out how it’s going to feel as the Pearl grows, layer by layer into an Egg.

The Pearl lets him go, with a languid promise of more, and Darrus is left shattered and dazed, two bondsfolk staring at him. “Dolif, put some clothes on,” Darrus says. “Cara, wake up Ara, and have her start dinner. I’ll be in the study,” he says, and exists the servant quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Darrus dreams of the singing of the seawitches in their towers. Some coastlines had light houses; Quesan had song towers, because the city founders had made alliances with the seawitch clans of the Bay of Serpents. The voice of a seawitch could call ships to port, or sink enemy ships by calling for the great sea serpents. The alliance had held for hundreds of years until Alethe invaded and made it clear they weren’t going to honor the old alliance or make a new one with the seawitches, who they called seahags. 

The clans had retreated, leaving the towers empty. Not satisfied with driving out the clans, the Alethans started a campaign against anyone with seawitch blood in the city. The worst part hadn’t been the campaign, the lies and accusations. The worst part had been the way the full-human families had turned against his. The dream turns to fire, the burning of his father’s business. Mother had divorced his father and taken Darrus’ little sisters to the sea. The Alethans had perhaps assumed from this that he hadn’t any seawitch blood. (Darrus’ father had hidden his differences for as long as he could, until he couldn’t.)

Darrus dreams, and the Pearl hums. _What do you want?_ It isn’t really words. It’s only the essence of a question. It isn’t really thought, the Pearl is only framing his desires.

_I want to destroy Alethe_ , Darrus says in his sleep. _I want revenge._

The Pearl hums, and Darrus sinks into a deeper sleep.

Darrus wakes to the sound of his door opening, his head full of the sound of seawitch voices. He freezes for a moment, a defense spell on the tip of his tongue, until the figure standing in the doorway becomes recognizable in the low light from the fireplace. “Dolif?” Darrus asks. “What’s going on?”

The boy is silent for a good minute. “Do you want me to warm your bed?” Dolif asks finally, not looking at Darrus directly. “Said there’d be a next time.”

Darrus almost wants to tease Dolif for being so forward. He doesn’t, though the words are on his tongue concerning the boy’s apparent boldness. Darrus isn’t sure the boy would understand the teasing. It also seemed excessively cruel, like kicking a beaten dog. This is something the boy expected, thought he’d have to do. (Darrus did not want to speculate on how the boy must have been treated as an “idiot” bondsman on the farm where he grew up. Or how it might mirror his treatment of the human. He knows he’s no better than the boy’s previous owners--now themselves bondsfolk--and possibly worse.) Darrus pulls his covers back silently, and the boy strips out of his nightshirt and slips into the bed and under the covers.

Dolif presses himself against Darrus, and it’s a temptation, but Darrus pushes him away, for now. He’s tired, and his head is full of ocean dreams. (Why had he come so far from the bedamned coast? Answer: Pyro had hatched in the White Hills, and Algoen’s nation lands weren’t far from here and he wanted to be closer to his family. Oh, Darrus was going to want to meet with orc and goblin tribes soon….) “Just sleep, tonight,” Darrus says. The boy nods, a little confused, wary but obedient. “We’re both tired, aren’t we?”

Dolif nods his agreement, still confused. “Just actually warming the bed.”

“Yes,” Darrus says, and laughs quietly. “Just actually warming the bed.” On impulse, he kisses Dolif on the mouth before nudging the bondsman around so they were comfortably situated on their sides, the boy’s back against Darrus’ chest. Dolif holds himself very still at first, but slowly relaxes into sleep. Darrus listens to the boy’s quiet breathing for a long while, before following him. 

The next few days, he has his bondsfolk feed the Pearl, one each day, starting with Ara, the cook. When he sends for her that first day, it’s a few minutes before she appears. The human shivers and tries not to cry over being naked, trying to cover herself when she arrives at the door to the room where he was keeping the Pearl. She’s softly rounded and pretty, for a human, though her face is blotchy from crying. She looks apprehensively into the room, at lines and runes carefully etched into the stone of the walls and floor. She sees the altar with its braziers on iron poles at each corner, and the niche in the wall where the Pearl rests and goes pale. “Come in,” Darrus says. “Close the door behind you.”

Ara obeys, shivering as she steps into the room. She’s gone from trying not to cry, to sobbing in fear. “Master, please. I’m sorry,” she says, voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s the same as before, Ara,” Darrus says, trying for patience in his tone. “Except this time you’re going to lie on this altar. Are you going to balk? I will beat you again, if you balk.” 

The bondswoman shakes her head, but also doesn’t move. When he takes hold of her arm she doesn’t fight him however, letting him guide her over to the altar and coax her into lying down. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “Please.”

“You’re so frightened of the Pearl,” Darrus says, stroking the woman’s cheek before restraining her to the altar. She didn’t fight him here, as he bound her to the altar, arms above her head and legs spread, but she shivers violently. (She was also terrified of the altar, poor thing. But he marked that she had reacted to the Pearl first.) “Such a strong negative reaction.”

“It’s hungry,” Ara says, “it’ll eat everything right up.”

Darrus looks down at the bondswoman, feeling a little surprised. Was she a sensitive? She wasn’t one of the half trained wisewomen and cunningmen who made simples and spells in the region. “It won’t eat everything,” Darrus says. “Just what I let it.” He turns to the niche and takes down the Pearl. The bondswoman whimpers and squirms on the altar as he approaches with the Pearl, and cries out when he holds it cupped over her navel.

Ara cries and wails, writhing on the altar, feeding the Pearl, which is humming in satisfaction. Darrus feels an echo of that satisfaction as he concentrates on the conduit of energy, ensuring the Pearl doesn’t take too much. The bondswoman goes through paroxysm after paroxysm, face ecstatic with pleasure, even as tears fall from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. When it’s done, she’s barely awake, and Darrus’ knees are a little weak from the rush of power. Darrus takes the Pearl away and places it back in the niche.

He strokes her hair, murmuring praise as he unchains Ara. He ends up carrying Ara out of the room, glad he wasn’t exactly the stereotype of the twig thin sorcerer. After putting Ara into the care of the maids, he retreats to the Pearl’s room to run tests and see where the Pearl is in its stage of development toward a full Phoenix Egg.

The other bondsfolk have their own reactions to taking a turn in the Pearl room. None of them are as fearful as Ara, but there is always unease up until they are on the altar, feeding the Pearl. Then they are almost wanton, begging for him to touch them, as the Pearl forces them into paroxysm after paroxysm of ecstatic pleasure, even Sirti, who is the most reserved.

He’s gentle and a little teasing with them, stroking and touching while they gasp and cry out, bucking into his one hand while the other holds the Pearl against them. It’s addictive, encouraging their reactions to the Pearl, feeling the energy blazing through him, fine and pure. When the Pearl is done, he makes sure his bondsfolk rest and have a good meal. When it gets around to Ara’s turn again, she’s more cooperative, though still fearful. Darrus rescinds her punishment of nakedness as a reward.

The first set of adventurers is a motley band of youngsters. Darrus estimated that the oldest couldn’t have been more than twenty. All of them were human. There was a priestess, a mage barely past his apprenticeship and six fighters. How they thought they were going to make it through a dungeon held by disciplined veteran soldiers, a dragon and a sorcerer of his experience, Darrus wasn’t sure. (To be fair, they couldn’t have known, to be unfair, they also hadn’t seemed to have done even a little reconnaissance.)

The orcs picked off the fighters one by one, while drawing the remaining adventurers off into Pyro’s maze. By the time the adventurers realized they couldn’t go back the way they came, they were well and truly trapped between the orcs and the dragon. The adventurers had been reduced to just two of the fighters, the priestess and mage, and had been taken prisoner. One fighter was badly wounded, the priestess was unconscious, and the mage was suffering from a concussion, have been cracked hard in the head from being thrown into a wall, Darrus’ one contribution to the final battle.

Algoen had the prisoners collared and confined to the lower dungeon cells, then sent healers to tend to the injured. Darrus felt vaguely disappointed he hadn’t been able to do more with in the campaign against the adventurers. Instead he had been mostly ensuring that his own people didn’t blunder into traps. He let the prisoners stew a while before having them brought out of their cells for questioning.

The adventurers had been hired individually by the council of Torr, one of the largest settlements this side of the White Hills. They had not worked together for any length of time, which had shown in their lack of cohesion when they fought. “Should I feel insulted we weren’t taken as a serious threat?” Algoen asks over dinner.

They were meeting in Algoen’s chambers to discuss their first incursion. The orc’s chambers were decorated in the traditional style of his tribe; low tables and seats, painted hides on the wall depicting hunting scenes, dyed reed mats on the floor, braziers for heat. The orc’s bondsmen sat at the table beside him and served dinner as they themselves ate, also according to tradition. Orcs did not have servant’s halls where the servants ate; instead their servants ate at their masters’ table. 

Darrus recognized the first farmer family they’d taken. The girls seemed to be in good cheer, whispering among themselves. The parents were uneasy, though most of that uneasiness was directed at him. They had no apparent fear of Algoen, and the woman was even smiling. 

“And you thought we were moving too quickly,” Darrus says. “I think this ended up being excellent practice. Your soldiers did exactly what they were supposed to, and the soldiers and bondsmen fought well together.”

Algoen snorted. “I suppose that’s true enough,” he admits. “I suppose you want to fold the surviving adventurers in among the bondsmen?”

“The fighters yes, they can help train the bondsmen. The priestess and the mage are too dangerous at this point,” Darrus says. “I’ll have the Pearl drain them. We’ll need more.”

“Prisoners, adventurers?” Algoen asks.

Darrus smirks a bit. “Yes.” He laughs at the exasperated look Algoen gives him. “Specifically, we’re going to need more prisoners for the Pearl. Not just prisoners; concubines.” He gives a brief description of how he’s keeping the Pearl fed during its transformation into a Phoenix Egg.

Algoen snorts. “You sure that’s not just you wanting the concubines? Why not take some women from among the general bondfolk?”

“I’d rather not have the additional resentment,” Darrus says dryly. “I think we’re at the point where we can start making demands on smaller villages, and see where that gets us.” 

“More attention,” Algoen says immediately. “And you haven’t really said anything about the concubines.”

“It seems to be more or less expected. Dungeon masters make demands for money, food, other treasures, virgins. I need more energy to feed the Pearl, more energy than my bondfolk can supply and still work--therefore, concubines. Any other reasons--such as my personal entertainment--are secondary.”

Algoen snorts with amusement. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do then,” Algoen says. “Children, Cara, clear the table and do the dishes. Enal, go get the maps.” Algoen’s bondfolk immediately move to obey.

“One of my maids is named Cara,” Darrus says.

“Seems like a common name,” Algoen says. “So’s ‘Enal.’ I call for him, and it seems like six bondsmen answer, none of them the one I called for.”

Darrus smiles at that.

Enal returns with map cases, which he sets down on the low table. Instead of sending him away, Algoen has the bondsman sit at the table. The human sits with his head bowed, not looking at either of them as the orc spreads out the maps. It quickly becomes clear that Enal is there to answer questions about the villages and towns in the area. Though he’s clearly reluctant to do so, he answers their questions, and offers information about the area. He continues to sit quietly as Algoen and Darrus discuss which of the villages they’ll raid.

“We can iron out any further plans tomorrow,” Algoen says as the conversation winds down. He has Enal roll up the maps and put them away in their cases.

Darrus nods. “Pyro will want join in. Except for the incursion she’s been pretty bored,” he says. Watching Enal he says, “your bondsfolk are very well behaved. I’m surprised, considering this one’s earlier defiance.” 

“I don’t mind a little defiance,” Algoen says. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes for a human, and his wife’s not bad either.”

Both Enal and his wife had strong features that were more striking than anything a human might consider “handsome” or “pretty.” Enal himself was strong and sturdily built; broad shoulders and a thick chest. His wife was a touch slender but also tall for a human woman. An orc would be more than likely to find them both of interest. Darrus wondered how Enal felt about that; not very good from the tense line of his shoulders. “Is there anything else you or your guest need, Master?” Enal asks, eyes flicking between Algoen and Darrus.

“Why don’t you go show Master Darrus how well behaved you are?” Algoen suggests.

Enal flushes and glares at Algoen before turning quickly around, dropping his trews, mooning Darrus. The immediate joke Darrus would like to make about Enal’s lack of good behavior dies in his throat. The cap of a bright brass plug is gleaming between the bondsman’s ass cheeks. Darrus laughs. “You had that all through dinner?”

“Had it most of the day,” Algoen says, smugly amused. “Enal, keep your trews down,” Algoen says as the bondsman makes to pull them back up. Algoen gets up, and goes over to his bondsman. “It feel good to be a little shit, Enal?” Algoen asks casually.

Enal mutters something. It wasn’t an apology. Whatever it was, it makes Algoen laugh. “Bend over, Enal, hands on your knees.” As the bondsman obeys, Algoen looks back at Darrus. “Want to beat him, or want to watch?” Enal makes a little noise, and shivers.

“I’ll watch,” Darrus says. The bondsman was being _very_ good, even with the defiance of mooning him. Enal stood bent over for the spanking that Algoen delivered, gasping occasionally, but not crying out.

When the bondsman’s back side was reddened, Algoen left off, and pulled Enal all the way upright. The human leans against Algoen, shuddering but also clinging to the orc. “Kick off your trews,” Algoen says, and Enal obeys him.

Once the trews are off, Algoen strips the human out of his tunic, and pushes him to kneel, facing Darrus. The bondsman’s face is red, his cock is hard and flushed. “This took a little work,” he says to Darrus. Enal puts his hand behind his back, and sits gingerly on his heels, head bowed. “You have to know when to push, when to back off, when to let ‘em know you’ve been watching ‘em fuck.”

_“Gods,”_ Enal mutters, the flush from his face spreading to his ears and down his neck.

“All _kinds_ of shit you can get up too, if you push them right,” Algoen continues. “Did you know this idiot didn’t even know how to give his wife an orgasm?”

“It really didn’t cross my mind to even speculate about,” Darrus says dryly. “A man’s ability to do his duty to his wife is matter between them, and none of mine.”

“It was fucking pitiful,” Algoen says with considerable disgust. “Feeling safe enough to fuck, and the woman’s not getting anything out of it.”

“I assume you taught him better, then,” Darrus says. The human is squirming with humiliation, though that might also be from the fire Algoen lit on his backside.

“Oh yeah,” Algoen says with a smirk. “I taught him what to do with his mouth and fingers and all that. Want to see?”

Darrus feels the stirring of genuine interest. “You just want to stare at my member,” he says.

Algoen, utterly shameless, leers. “It’s weird looking. I can’t help if I stare at weird looking things. Enal’s gonna freak, seawitch.” At that, the bondsman looked up with alarm, before remembering himself and bowing his head.

“Technically I’m your employer, not your sideshow exhibit,” Darrus says, but he gets to his feet. Algoen was really such a ridiculous bastard. They’d visited brothels together, and gone with camp followers. Sometimes, very occasionally, they fucked.

They both get into position, Algoen at the bondsman’s rear, Darrus at his front. Algoen kneels, and sets his hands on Enal’s hips and he jumps a little, hands dropping from behind his back. “Hands back up, Enal,” Algoen says. “Do I need to tie them?”

The bondsman makes a little noise from the back of his throat. He shakes his head, and puts his hands back behind his back, one hand grasping the other by the wrist. “Good boy Enal,” Algoen says, pulling Enal back against his crotch. Enal gasps and squirms, which only makes the orc chuckle, and grind against his ass.

Darrus kneels, undoes the belt tying his robe, and then undoes his trews, sliding them down his thighs. “There we go,” Algoen says in a singsong voice. “Enal, take a look at the clamshell!”

The bondsman is indeed staring at Darrus’ crotch. The pubic plates protecting his genitalia were dark, indicating his maturity, and folded tightly, though there was an uncomfortable fullness that suggested they wouldn’t be sealed for long. “It looks nothing like a clamshell,” Darrus says, absolutely not squirming at the orc’s teasing. “My member is behind the pubic shield,” he says to the bondsman. “The ocean is very cold, so the shield protects it.”

Algoen pats Enal’s hip. “So you have to lick up all along the seam before you can coax him out,” Enal says. “I bet you’re wondering what it looks like, with the rest of him looking so strange,” Algoen says.

The bondsman whimpers, but obeys Algoen’s nudge toward Darrus’ crotch. He flinches when Darrus reaches for him, and his mouth is hesitant, lips and tongue moving gingerly along the seam. Darrus shudders at the sensation, as his member squirms behind the shield. “Little more firm,” he says, voice warping a bit with harmonics.

While Enal licks at the seam, Algoen plays with the plug in the bondsman’s ass. This makes him shudder and squirm, losing track of what he’s doing. In turn, Darrus tugs him back, pushing is face into his crotch. They play with the bondsman for a while like that, Darrus growing increasingly aroused, the bondsman’s whimpers turning to whines, when the shield finally splits, freeing Darrus’ member.

Enal jerks back in surprise, gasping for air as much as in surprise. Darrus member was thick and ridged, the tip a bit pointier than a orc or human cock. The surprise doesn’t last long, the bondsman sets his mouth down over the member and begins to suck, head bobbing to take more of it in. Darrus groans at the sensation, thrusting into the bondsman’s hot mouth.

“Gonna take his ass, while you fuck his mouth,” Algoen says, sending a shudder through both the bondsman and Darrus. He pulls out the plug, drawing a muffled groan from Enal, the replaces it with his cock pushing in slow, and out of time with Darrus thrusts. Enal cries out, almost sobbing, as he thrusts back on Algoen’s cock. Algoen curses, and grips hard on Enal’s hips.

“Gods, you’re doing so well, so fucking good,” Algoen says. He reaches down to wrap his big hand around the bondsman’s cock. “Suck him off, let him fuck down your throat,” he continues. There is a constant stream of filth coming from Algoen that sends thrills all up and down Darrus’ spine.

“You have such a fucking mouth,” Darrus says, breathless and half out of his mind.

“See how good you’re being?” Algoen says to Enal, rocking into his thrusts. “Show him your sweet mouth, all full of honey.”

“I’m talking about _you_ ,” Darrus says. “You have the _filthiest_ goddamn mouth, _gods_.” He arches, one final thrust that sets the bondsman gagging, and comes. Algoen hits his climax just after that, shifting the shuddering, gasping bondsman off his cock.

Algoen gives him a brief leer. “You love it though,” he says. He pulls his bondsman into his arms, soothing and petting. The bondsman actually clings, breathless and still hard. “Enal likes it too, don’t you?” He murmurs.

“No, and fuck you,” Enal said. Algoen runs teasing claws over Enal’s skin. “Ah, _gods_ ,” he moans, burying his head against Algoen’s chest. “Bastard.”

“Want me to finish you, or you want Cara?”

“Cara’s with the girls,” Enal says.

“Not the answer to the question,” Algoen says, amused.

“Cara.”

Algoen pets him. “Go get your clothes and go to your room then,” he says.

Enal doesn’t move for a minute, then slowly heaves himself up, gathering his clothes, and also the buttplug, which he tosses into a brazier before he quickly retreats. A singed reek filled the air. “You’re going to pay for that, bastard,” Algoen calls after his bondsman over Darrus sudden, surprised laughter. 


End file.
